Use what you know.

 Tips, Writing  2 Responses »
May 212013
 

As a relatively new writer, I’m a big advocate of using what you know to add reality to your fiction. Using places you’ve been, and situations you’ve been in, gives a feeling of authenticity that fabrication doesn’t.

Sitting in a donut shop yesterday, I was plotting out a section of “Blood Soaked and Gone” that will probably lead up to, if not become, the climax of the novel. The setting appeared in my head, maybe because I dreamed of the Acme grocery store in my home town the night before, and it was completely different from what I’d originally planned. (Hell, I’ve left digital footprints all over the place, hunting for information about secret government bases. Hi, NSA!) I spontaneously decided to use someplace I know.

Chesapeake Bay Bridge

©Brandon White, www.TidalFish.com

The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. I’m not going to tell you WHY, but if you’ve read “Blood Soaked and Invaded” you’ll probably understand.

I can’t tell you how many times I drove across that 4.1 mile stretch of elevated highway over the years. I have so many memories attached to all that concrete and steel, and I know they’ll come out in what I write. That’s why I’m doing it—using what I know and a place that I know.

It is why you, as a writer, should try writing something set in a familiar place that has emotional attachment for you. You’ll be amazed at what your words communicate to your readers.

Ported from a conversation on LinkedIn

 This is Personal, Tips, Writing  No Responses »
May 102013
 

A fellow on the Fiction Writers Group on LinkedIn started a discussion about defining what “art” is in relationship to writing. I had to weigh in on that discussion, because I have tried to look at that issue in two other parts of my life. Plus, its a philosophical discussion and I’m a sucker for that sort of thing.

This is how I responded to the issue:

“The concept of what art is could be batted around until we’re dead, buried, and the Earth is a crispy cinder.

When I was a Fine Art Major in college, art was defined as “…created to engender an emotional response.” We can argue that nearly anything is art if it evokes emotion, even if that emotion is gut-deep revulsion.

In my life as a bladesmith, we bandy about when high craft transcends the barrier into fine art. Once again, there’s no consensus, except the expectation of high design and exquisite craftsmanship.

Perhaps, as writers, we’re going for a combination of those things. Exquisite craftsmanship with words that evokes an emotional response in the reader.”

At this point in my career as an author/writer, I am less concerned with creation of art than I am with telling a good story. Could I argue that a good story is art? Probably, but that’s beside the point.

Whether you’re a painter, sculptor, bladesmith, goldsmith, ceramics artist, woodworker, or writer—if you love your craft—you’re going to spend your life improving your skills. Will you reach “art”? I don’t know. I don’t know that I will, either. I do suspect that the more you love what you do, practice, and pour yourself into it, the more likely it is that art may appear when you’re not paying attention.

So, to all the artists, best wishes!

Did you know that I cook, too?

 Random Commentary, This is Personal, Writing  No Responses »
May 082013
 
Never again will I fry polenta.

I’ll bake it. I’ll broil it in broth.
Maybe I’ll mash it up with cream.

I’ll Posh Nosh it thoroughly.

Never again will I fry polenta.
There are tiny burns on my arms.

I slid around the floor, lubed up,

As our smoke alarm went insane.

Never again will I fry polenta.
It inspires the strangest things,
Like a post-repast tilt at poetry.
Mostly, though, I feel real greasy.
 Posted by at 9:16 pm
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